Needful Things
by PaleMagnolia
Summary: AU. Belle never understood the nature of the friendship between her easy-going father Moe and the elegant, well-spoken, ambiguous Mr. Gold. Mr Gold, who walks with a stick and wears English ties. Mr. Gold, who is thrice her age and holds many a secret. Young, naive Belle is oddly attracted by him, but - what is he hiding from her? Who is he - really? What's going on in Storybrooke?
1. A Long, Long While

_..._

_Oh, it's a long long while from may to december_

_Frank Sinatra, September Song_

_..._

The door bell rang as they walked in.

"_Ah_." Mr. Gold's eyes narrowed as he smiled slowly at the visitors, tilting his head back on the chair. His quite long hair - grey at the temples - fell over his shoulders.

"Belle, dearie. How nice of you to pay a visit to your old uncle." He sluggishly held his arm out to her and nodded in her direction. "Now come and give this old bore a kiss."

Belle didn't need to be told twice. She approached him and smiled fondly as he wrapped his arm around her waist. She bowed down and kissed him on the cheek – on the slightly uneven skin between his cheekbone and his mouth. He was wearing one of his tailored dark suit and a tasteful burgundy paisley-pattern tie – a Gieves and Hawkes one, most likely, as he never wore anything but the best.

"Hello, uncle Gold." She said, then she sat on his lap and carelessly put her arm on his shoulders. "Oh." Mr. Gold half-smiled. "You're getting heavy, my girl. It's not like when you were ten years old, and you came there every now and then to ask me for candies."

"Just throw me down, then." Belle swung her legs in a childish way.

He chuckled and tilted his head to the side."I would never do that. Who could ever want to shun such a pretty girl away?" He raised his head and nodded at the man that was standing, smiling, his hands in his pocket, just in front of them.

"Don't you agree, Moe?"

Belle's father laughed. "You'll have to join the queue, Gold. The list of her suitors is already endless."

"Oh, come on, dad. You're making me _blush_." She said that in a waggish tone, but she _was_ actually blushing a bit. Maybe it was just because Mr. Gold's arm was still around her waist, and she could smell the faint scent of his aftershave.

"Our frond yard is crowded with them, I can hardly park my car." Mr. Gold laughed.

"Now that's not true." Belle pouted.

"Yes it is. But she doesn't seem to like any of them, you know. She's rather picky when it comes to boys - aren't you, sweetheart?" Belle rolled her eyes.

"Well, people with particular tastes are my forte, you know." Mr. Gold waved his hand in the air in a playful way. "Not to brag, but my shop can provide almost anything. What are you looking for, dearie?" He turned to look Belle in the eyes; she smiled. "Young and handsome? Homecoming king, the quarterback kind of guy?"

Belle laughed. "Oh, please, no. Sounds like Gaston."

Mr. Gold frowned. "Who's _Gaston_?"

"Some foreign exchange student from France. Girls in my class keep saying he's so hot, and he thinks he's a lady killer or something. And for some reason he also thinks that, because my surname is French, he and I have some weird connection. He asked me out a couple of times."

"Do you like him?"

Belle laughed. "I hate him."

"So no Gaston-like guy for you. A tall dark stranger, then." He smiled. "Some Prince Charming, maybe?"

Belle shook her head, chuckling. "Thank you, uncle, but I'm not that into the Prince Charming type."

"What are you into, then?"

Belle tilted her head and bit her lip in a mock thoughtful way. "I don't know. The tall dark stranger sounds fine – but not too tall, ok?"

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. "Well, well, well, I'll see what I can do. Now, Moe" he looked up at Belle's father. "We need to discuss that business you told me about."

"Sure. Belle, dear, can you...?"

"Of course." She got up, a bit disappointed that she had to leave so soon. But, as his father used to tell her, "the grown-ups need to talk".

He gently pushed her away and stood up. "Would you pass me that, please?" he asked her, pointing at his walking stick. She handed him the stick – his distinctive wooden cane with the carved, gold plated shaft, a peculiar item of him: she could not think about Mr. Gold without seeing him leaning on it in his very own, careless way.

"I'm down at Granny's, when" Belle waved a hand. "when you're finished."

"Sure."

"See you, dad. Goodbye, uncle Gold."

"Always nice to see you – dearie."

Belle opened the door – the bell rang again – but just before she got out she turned to give Gold a last look-over. He caught her glance over her father's shoulders and gave her one of his familiar crooked smiles.

...

Belle took a sip of her iced tea and started playing with the striped straw. She absent-mindedly smiled at Ruby when she picked up her glass. She liked Ruby, that girl was kind of fun: and usually she would have chatted a bit with her. But she could still smell Gold's aftershave and feel the ghost of his hand on her waist, and she was not in the mood for talking.

No wonder that she could not find any of the guys at her school even remotely interesting; when she compared them to him – and she always did – they always look like a disordered bunch of silly bumpkins, in their ripped jeans and sneakers.

Them, with their football sweatshirts and bored expressions. Him, with his custom-made shirts and English ties; his unmistakable asymmetric walk; his half-smiles.

Them, talking about football and chicks and beer. He, the witty, well-spoken, enigmatic Mr. Gold. She didn't even know his first name, she suddenly realized. It had always been "uncle Gold" for her. He was not her uncle, actually, nothing but an old family friend. She used to call him that way when she was a kid, though, and he seemed pleased that she still did.

Too bad he saw her just like this. Some funny young kid he was distantly fond of.


	2. An English Rose

_This is my first fanfiction written in English. My beta checked it, but if you find mistakes or poorly constructed sentences, please let me know. Thanks!_

_..._

_Hide it in the hiding place where no one ever goes_

_Put it in your pantry with your cupcakes_

_Simon And Garfunkel, Mrs. Robinson_

_..._

Belle was reading a novel in her bedroom, when she heard muffled, repeated thuds outside. She glanced through the window and saw Leroy, gloves on his hands and a woollen hat on his head, digging a hole in his garden, just near the fence that divided his lawn from her father's. Leroy was their neighbour: Moe, like most of the people in Storybrooke, did not like him very much – both because he had recently been arrested for being drunk, and because he was actually quite a rough fellow, with a brusque, unsociable attitude that made him a not-so-pleasant company. Belle sort of liked him, though. He reminded her of the gardener in that children novel, _The Secret Garden_. She liked his harsh sense of humour and his sharp comments on people. He had always been kind of nice to her, anyway... Or, at least, he never shouted at her.

Belle marked the page with a dog-ear and put the book - _Special Topics in Calamity Physics_, by someone called Marisha Pessl - down, got out and approached Leroy. She looked at him between the white picket fence; he took notice of her presence with a muffled snort, but otherwise he acted like she was not there at all. Belle always found that behaviour amusing, and she suspected he knew that, and acted that way on purpose. She watched him working with his shovel for quite a while, then she cleaned her throat.

Leroy stopped his digging for a moment and glanced up. "What's wrong?", he mumbled, rudely.

Belle shrugged.

"Have you got nothin' better to do than watching me digging a hole, kid?"

Belle smiled naughtily. "Nope."

He grunted, but Belle could swear she saw him suppressing a smile.

"What are you doing, 'Roy?"

"Told you. Digging a hole."

"What for?"

"My business."

A few minutes later, he got into his tool shed and came out with a rose bush in a small pot in one hand, and a watering can in the other. He carefully pulled the rose out of its pot, and expertly loosened the roots and pruned the thinner branches. He placed the rose in the center of the hole, then filled it with soil and watered thoroughly around.

"It's called 'L.D. Braithwaite'." He muttered, reluctantly. "An English rose. Old. Very fragrant." He snuffled.

Belle had always been fascinated by the dual nature of that man. On one side, the misanthropic mumbler, the harsh fault-finder; on the other, the sensitive naturalist, the withdrawn artist who loved and cared for everything that was delicate and lovely. He owned a glorious garden: hybrid roses, calla lilies and late-flowering clematis, Rembrandt tulips, a flower for every season. Moe's shop almost paled in comparison.

When he finished, he drove on his shovel deep and leaned on its handle.

"So?" He said.

Belle was startled. "So what?"

"What about you? Still no one's special in your life, kid?"

"Nope. Why are you asking me that?"

"Because, kid, if you had a boyfriend, you wouldn't be there to bother me."

"Oh." Belle nodded in a mock thoughtful way. "Yeah. Right. Sounds perfectly logical."

Leroy put his hand on his hip. "You're not hanging around that old crow anymore, are you?" he asked, critically.

Belle blushed violently. "What are you talking about? Who's the "old crow"?", she said too fast, trying hard to be nonchalant and failing miserably.

"That guy that owns the antique shop. You used to have a crush on him."

"What?" Belle's ears were burning from embarrassment, and she was suddenly very annoyed at Leroy. "_No!_ No way, I mean - not at all!"

They stared at each other.

"Are you mad, kid?" Leroy laughed.

"Oh, shut up, 'Roy." Belle tried to calm herself down. She didn't want him to see her discomfort, as that would have meant he was right. "I don't _have_ a crush on him, Leroy. He's just an old family friend" His expression was skeptical. "I used to sit on his knees when I was a child, you know, and I'm quite fond of him." She waved her hands in the air. "And that's all. Ok? I don't really know where all this" Belle ironically moved her fingers to make quotation marks " all this 'crush' nonsense comes from."

"You don't know where it comes from, uh?" He sneered, but then his expression slowly turned serious. "Listen, kid. I'm not the right guy for dating advice, I'm really not. But I tell you one thing - that guy" and he pointed a finger to the town "is not good for you. He's not good for anyone."

"What are you trying to...?"

"He's not who you think he is, Belle. Mind me. He's not."

"How can you say something like that?" Belle was astonished. Her ears were red again, this time from anger. _How could he...?_

"You don't know him. You, no –" She raised a cautionary finger, as he was trying to interrupt her. "No, _listen to me_ – you don't know him at all."

Leroy raised a teasing eyebrow."And you tell me you don't have a crush on him."

Belle rolled her eyes. "No, listen, I..."

But Leroy had thrown his shovel over his shoulder and was walking off, without even saying goodbye.

"_Leroy...!_" Belle raised her arms in exasperation.

"Listen to me, kid." He said, opening the door of his house, without glancing at her. "That guy's a threat."

"I told you I'm not..." The door closed behind Leroy's back with a thump.

"... in love with him." She rubbed her temples. "Yeah, whatever." she muttered, then she went back into the house, slamming the door behind her.


	3. Just An Idle Question

_..._

_Yeah I, I got to know your name_  
_ Well and I, I could trace your private number _

_Dead or Alive, You spin me around (Like a record)_

_..._

_Belle was on the top of a very high cliff, wind violently slapping her clothes and blowing her hair away from her face. The sky was white and the light was strangely bright, too. So very bright that it gave everything – from the dark green treetops to the snowy soil – a frozen, obsessive, overly defined look. She could see a vast forest all around them – or, more precisely, she _knew _it. Everything was both alien and familiar to her. Her father was behind her – for some reason, she could not turn to see him, but she was deeply aware he was there. In front of her, with his back to them, was Mr. Gold, standing on the very edge of the crag. She tried to call him out – he was dangerously close to the brink of precipice – but she could not speak. Gold wore a heavy leather glove on his outstretched left arm, and he carried a grey hawk on it, like a hunter. Except that - it wasn't really him. He looked like him – at least, somehow - but he wore the strangest clothes, really, and his hair was quite different, and when he finally turned to her..._

Bell woke up with a start. She had fallen asleep while reading – _Watership Down_, this time. It was quite late in the evening – 08:45, she read in bright red numbers on her alarm clock. The book was opened on her chest. Her neck hurt – she had slept in an uncomfortable position, her head tilted at one side. Her head hurt, too, and she was feeling strange. She had some kind of dream – an ominous one. She couldn't remember exactly what it was about, but it had something to do with Gold.

As much as she could be infatuated with him, it was rather uncommon for her to dream of him – something she was quite sorry for. Too bad she could not remember any of it, apart from its unpleasantness.

Her father was somewhere arranging flowers for a wedding banquet or a christening or something like that, meant to be the morning after, so she was alone in the house. She went downstairs to get herself something to eat: she picked some milk and microwaved some leftover pasta. She unwillingly poked at it, but it was dry and tasteless. She turned the tv on, but the best it could offer was some cheesy game show, and she soon turned it off. She was feeling restless and nervous, all alone in her quiet, empty house. The creepy feeling related to her dream was still there, too. She got back in her room and tried to finish the book: it was a really good one - one of her favourites - and she had already read it before, but she couldn't focus at all. The words melted one into the other, turning into unreadable bird footprints and making her head hurt more and more. She put it down and closed her eyes.

_[Ask him what his name is]._

Belle jumped - she had suddenly remembered her dream, all of it, and it had _actually_ been quite scary. When Gold turned his head to her, his face (the face she had learnt to know so well over the years) was so different - his skin scaly, reptile looking, both repulsive and fascinating; his eyes wide and haunting, a tortured and, at the same time, insanely cheerful expression in them... And yet, it was familiar, too - in some strange, elusive way, it was. It was.

_[Ask him what his real name is]._

Belle shut her eyes. A voice in her dream kept telling her something about asking Gold his name - the _real_ one, if that made any sense. It was something very important, she could tell that. She didn't know why, but it most definitely was. Now that she had remembered it, she couldn't take it off her mind. It _was_ important, very much so, and...

She heard a muffled noise out of the house and got up. She opened the curtains to look down; her father's car was there. The door of her bedroom opened, and Moe got in.

"Sweetie?"

Belle twirled round, with a dazed, transfixed expression on her face, like a deer in car headlights.

Moe's smile froze. "What's wrong? Belle?"

Belle stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. "N-nothing. Sorry." She tried to smile. "You just took me by surprise, dad."

Her father frowned. "You look upset. Is something wrong?"

"No." She smiled. "No, dad, thank you. I'm just – I don't know. A bit confused. I fell asleep this afternoon and I just woke up." She shrugged.

"Oh, all right then." Moe smiled back, then he moved nearer and kissed her on the head. "It's late, go to bed. Good night, Belle."

"'Night, dad." They smiled at each other. Moe was about to leave, when Belle spoke again.

"Dad? Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Do you..." Belle bit her lip. "Do you happen to know uncle Gold's first name?"

"What?" Moe smiled. "Why are you asking me that?"

"No reason. Out of idle curiosity. I just realized that I don't know it, and it seems strange to me, considering that I've known him since – like - _forever_." She raised her shoulders and smiled apologetically.

"Why, sure. His name is..." Belle's eyes widened, but Moe suddenly paused. He frowned. "That's funny." he said, and sat on her bed.

"What?"

Moe made an amused snort. "I can't remember it. Odd, isn't it?" He opened his arms. "I'm sure it must be something very common, Jack or John or something, but everyone I know has always called him Mr. Gold."

Belle had a thoughtful expression on her face. "I wonder if anyone in this town knows it." She looked down. "Maybe it's not a common name at all." She said, absent-mindedly.

_[He's not who you think he is, Belle. He's not.]_

Moe chuckled. "Yeah. Maybe it's an embarrassing name. Like Enoch. Or Jebediah. Think of it - Jebediah Gold!"

"Oh, come on, _dad_!" Belle suppressed a smile.

"Maybe he hates it, and that's why he wants everybody to just call him Gold."

_[Ask him what his real name is!]_

"Maybe. Thank you, dad."

Moe got up. "You can always ask him yourself. You know he's fond of you: he'll tell you."

"Maybe I will." She nodded, pensively, then smiled. "Sorry, it was a silly question. Good night, dad."

"Good night, dear. Sweet dreams!" He smiled for the last time and got out of her room.

Belle sighed as her smile faded. She lied down on her bed. _Sweet dreams. Yeah. _

_Like the last one...?_


	4. In A Sentimental Mood

_First of all, thank you all for the lovely comments - you made my day! _

_I highly recommend to listen to Duke Ellington/John Coltrane rendition of _In a Sentimental Mood_. Not only because it's an important part of the scene below, but also because it's absolutely stunning. You can find it here: _ watch?v=mszSoTNqH3Y

_..._

_Watch him now, here he comes_

_He doesn't look a thing like Jesus_

_But he talks like a gentleman_

_Like you imagined when you were young_

_And sometimes you close your eyes_

_And see the place where you used to live_

_When you were young._

_The Killers, When you were young_

_..._

"_Hey_."

Mr. Gold had his back to the door, and he was quite puzzled when he turned and saw Belle standing in the shadowy door frame. She waved shyly at him.

"Hey." He repeated.

"I, _uhm_. I thought dad might be there." It was a blatant lie, as she knew perfectly where his father was – at Granny's, drinking beer, watching a baseball match and cheerily yelling at the tv along with a couple of friends. Belle had never quite understood the nature of the friendship between her father and Mr. Gold: Moe French was a good-natured, easy-going man who liked a good laugh and, as much as Belle loved him, she could hardly call him well-educated. While Mr. Gold was... well, he was _Mr. Gold_: the most ambiguous, elusive, inscrutable character in town.

The man without a first name.

She was still haunted by her dream – Mr. Gold's creepy, green-golden lookalike laughing merrily at her -, and she had made up her mind to go and see him, as soon as her dad was out of the way.

Gold moved around the counter to greet her. "He's not, my dear." He bowed down to her, to get her customary kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, all right then. He's probably having a beer at Granny's or something like that."

He smiled his usual twisted smile: his lower teeth were uneven, and he had a gold crown, but that only made his smile more peculiar – and, to Belle, strangely captivating. It sent a shiver down her spine, every time - this equivocal, oblique smile of him.

He was wearing some sort of apron and he was apparently working on something. His tie (a plum checked one this time, to match the deep purple shirt) was a bit loose; the only light in the shop came from a small table lamp, and its warm yellow light from behind made Gold's features look softer than usual. He looked very human, very _normal_ - and Belle suddenly felt very, very stupid for the whole 'dream' nonsense. He was just an ordinary man – well, maybe _ordinary_ was not the right word for him ("_extraordinary_" being far more fitting), but he was still just like any other person in Storybrooke. She folded her hands behind her back and approached the table, that was covered in small brass and wooden parts.

"What is it, uncle?" she asked cheerily, to cover her discomfort.

"It's a phonograph – or, a gramophone." He looked down at the scattered pieces and a strand of hair fell in front of his eyes. "Well, it _was_. I'm trying to fix it, but I'm afraid I've done more harm than good."

"A gramophone?" It didn't look like it. It looked more like a small wooden suitcase. She sat on the table and picked up a small object that looked like a hook. She played around with it.

Gold weaved his head in an indulgent attitude. "Yes, I know, it doesn't really look like it. When you think about gramophones you expect one of those big brass horns, but not all of them had one. This is an early 1920s portable gramophone. Here, I'll show you a working one."

Mr. Gold disappeared in the back for a while and came back with a similar suitcase in his hands.

"Here." He opened the suitcase-looking cabinet, revealing a turntable. "You see?" he said, bowing over it and pointing at some small mechanism. "Here's the double of that object you've got in your hands."

Belle awkwardly put the hook down and got nearer. "That's the spindle, and this thing" he put a finger on a small needle on the end of a metallic leg – is the stylus." He looked up at her and smiled. "Let me show you how it works." He turned back, randomly picked a vinyl record from a shelf, mockingly blew the dust off it – Belle smiled - and put it on.

The record started turning, he put the needle on it and the music played with a crackling noise. It was a very old record, with a hissing, rustling sound, but the track (a saxophone and piano jazz ballad) was so very engaging that Belle liked it instantly. It had a strange, haunting, bittersweet feel in it: Belle closed her eyes for a moment. It made her experience an odd nostalgic feeling; that very moment took the quality of a memory - memories of things she'd never known. Smoke-filled clubs, crystal glasses. A black upright piano. Silk, fringed lampshades on low tables.

"Oh. I love that one." Gold said, his voice very low. "It's called "In A Sentimental Mood". Duke Ellington composed it in 1935. That's the rendition with John Coltrane at the saxophone, if I remember well." Belle saw a remote, thoughtful expression crossing his face.

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Charming, isn't it?" he whispered, absent-mindedly.

"I never thought you could like something _sentimental,_ uncle Gold." She said, teasingly, mostly to cover up her embarrassment: he looked distant, dreamy, and she suddenly felt unconfortable, like she had been in the way.

_Leroy's right. I know nothing about him_, she thought, unexpectedly. _Nothing._

But a few seconds later he pulled himself together, smiled slowly - and suddenly he was again his old self, the usual, elegant, self-controlled Mr. Gold. He took off his apron and tossed it carelessly on a chair. "Maybe you don't know me all that well, dearie." He took a step back, bowed and theatrically stretched an arm towards her as an invitation to dance.

Belle gave a start. She did not expect that. She got off the table and hesitantly took his hand: he pulled her closer and smiled. "Do you know how to dance, my dear child?"

"No." She chuckled, but she was quite nervous, her heart thumping.

He put a hand on her waist as she awkwardly leaned hers on his shoulder. He tentatively pushed her gently back and forth, he smiled, then he tried a couple of easy steps. She tried to go along with him - he led her in a very smooth, skillful way - but she didn't get it right at first.

Gold laughed softly. "No, no, no, you have to follow _me_ – like this." Gold moved slower to make easier for her to follow him, but she could hardly pay any attention at all to her feet, when she was so close, so very aware of the heat of his body under his shirt. She tried not to be fascinated by the faint mark of a shaving cut on his neck, of his hair brushing his shoulders. "You see?"

"Yes." Belle soon realized that, even with his limp slowing him down, he was a very good dancer, something she had never thought possible. Her moves, instead, were clumsy - she kept stumbling and missing a beat; but it was lovely anyway, so very lovely.

He made her turn under his arm – she smiled -, then pulled her close to him again and made her lean back in a dip, supporting her by holding her shoulder in the crook of his arm. They chuckled again, this time in a warm, intimate way. She was suddenly aware of the brass astrolabe standing on a table, of a jingling wind chime, of dusty bottles and books and records. A couple of old, creepy ragdolls. A Tiffany lamp. All around was the faint smell of wax and lemon oil and old things. This was _his_ world, and it was so different, so very distant from the one outside, with its football matches and beer and crowded bars, of front lawns and white picket fences and boredom. This was so – so _magic_. Yes. The whole place was magic.

She looked up to him. His face, a half-serious expression on it, was so near, his hair falling on his forehead. They were so close, and she wanted him so badly, and...

A car honked just outside the shop, someone yelled angrily. They both gave a start and laughed awkwardly - the spell was broken. Mr. Gold gave her a quick smile and released her from his grip. He turned to the table to remove the record from the turntable: he put the needle off and the record skipped with a scratchy noise.

Mr. Gold put the vinyl back in his paper folder and handed it to her. "There. You can have it, if you want it."

Belle could hardly speak. She was still quite mixed up. "Yes", she finally managed to say, with an unsteady smile. "Thank you, uncle. I'd love to have it." She carefully took the record from his hand.

"Treat it kindly. It's quite rare, dearie." He leaned on his cane and smiled, a warm smile.

"Oh, I will. I will."


	5. The Wolf

About Belle's age.

Well, "time" is a pretty - ehm - _relative_ concept in Storybrooke. And "age" is consequently a rather confusing notion - so it shouldn't really matter that much. But we'll come to that.

Let's just say that she _looks like_ about 19, anyway, to put our mind at ease.

About Leroy and Moe.

Leroy knows (or, at least, he strongly suspects) that Gold is hiding something – and that 'something' is _also_ the reason why Gold and Moe are friends.

Or everybody think they are.

Or _they_ think they are.

Or at least _one of them_ thinks they are.

Or they pretend to be.

...

Or, uhm, yes, it's a bit complicated. Whatever. Let's just say that is something Belle will not like, when she finds out.

_..._

_What's the name of the game?  
Can you feel it the way I do?  
Tell me please, 'cause I have to know  
I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow_

_Abba, The Name of the Game_

_..._

Belle hunted high and low for her father's old record player, and when she found it – over the wardrobe, into an old dusty box – she took it into her room. She carefully got Gold's record out of its folder and put it on, then she lied down on the bed, her eyes closed. She listened to it without a move, trying to recall every detail of that night at the shop. When the song ended, she picked up the needle and started it again. She played it over and over and over, until her dad came upstairs.

"Why are you listening to that old stuff, sweetie? Boy, it's _so_ depressing."

Belle didn't bother to get up or even to open her eyes. "Is it?" she asked. "I think it's beautiful."

"I thought today's young people liked hip hop music or something. Why is that you're listening to some strange and haunting old blues record?"

Belle shrugged and smiled, her eyes still shut. "Maybe I'm not like today's young people, dad."

"Yeah, I've noticed that." He frowned a bit. "People already think you're a strange girl, Belle, you know. Are you going to prove them they're right once more?" He smiled.

"Oh, _dad_!" She got up on her elbow and rolled her eyes.

"You know what they say. _She's a beauty but a funny girl, that Belle_. Like in that Disney movie, you see."

"That's not true. I'm not a beauty _and I'm not a funny girl!_"

"Yes, you are. Both of them. Your head is always up on some cloud, and people see that kind of things. You're a puzzle to them, you know – all dreamy, your nose always stuck in a book and everything. You're lucky that you are so damn pretty, sweetie, because everyone is inclined to forgive a pretty girl for being a bit dazed!"

"Oh, shut up!" She tried to hit him with her pillow, but he dodged it. Belle half-smiled, but she was actually a bit upset. Her father noticed that and changed the subject.

He turned to the record player. "Isn't it my old Philips 22GF? Where did you find it?"

"In your room. I needed it to play that record. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course I don't. But why didn't you ask for it?" He picked the vinyl up. "Where does it come from, anyway? Looks like something from Gold's shop."

Belle got up and leaned on her elbow. "Because it is. From Gold's shop, I mean. Uncle gave it to me."

Her father frowned. "And why did he do that?"

Belle looked up at him and raised her shoulders. "Dunno. I liked it, so he gave it to me. That's all."

Moe's expression suddenly clouded over. "Belle, listen to me. I don't like you to accept gifts from him." he said, harshly. Then, noticing the bewildered look in Belle's eyes, he sat down on her bed. "I mean, I know he just wanted to be kind – and I know he's very fond of you" he added, in a softer way, "But we already owe him far too much, dear."

Belle didn't like the sound of it. "What do you mean, dad?"

Moe opened his mouth to speak, then apparently changed his mind. He smiled. "Nothing you have to worry about. Let's just say he's been very nice to us in the past. And - well, he still is."

Then he gave her an uncomfortable smile and went downstairs, leaving Belle puzzled as never before. _What was he talking about...?_

That night, Belle tossed and turned in her bed and, when she finally managed to fall asleep, her dreams were eerie and confused.

She woke up with a start the morning after – puffy-eyed, her hair ruffled. The house was empty, yellow blades of morning light coming from the open windows, highlighting shiny wirls of dust. She got downstairs and poured some orange juice into a glass. She took a sip, then put the glass down and looked at it, frowning. _Shouldn't I be at school?_, she thought, but she couldn't be sure of that. She tried to concentrate, but she was confused. _Shouldn't I..._

She felt strange – it happened to her quite often, and more often lately: all of a sudden, when she was home, or walking through the town, or at the shop, everything started to look unreal, dreamlike. Sometimes she found herself somewhere and couldn't remember how she got there, or why. Sometimes she tried to remind a particular moment of her life and she couldn't, like it had had not happened at all. Sometimes she found it hard even to imagine a world when she – or anybody else – was different from the present moment: she couldn't remember being a child, or a young girl – the only memories she had were provided by her father's words - or Gold's. As long as they kept telling her about the time when she was a child, and she sat on Mr. Gold's knees, she couldn't remember it at all. Her memories seemed to her fragmented, jarring, like they wasn't really her own, like they were, in some way, wrong... fake. She never talked about that with anyone – she was already considered a strange girl, like her father said.

She didn't want to be seen as a crazy one, too.

Belle could sometimes feel something – powerful, lively - pulsing just underneath the world she lived in. It looked like, along with the tower clock, everything in the city had frozen a long time ago. And, sometimes – sometimes cracks appeared in the surface of reality, its own texture suddenly thinning out. She was scared and fascinated by this – a phenomenon that happened more easily when she was close to Mr. Gold – or, strangely enough, the few times she had met the mayor – that attractive but haunting woman, Regina Mills.

Maybe it was her name – Regina – but there was something powerful, something regal in her that had nothing to do with her position. Belle tried to think about it, tried to figure out why that woman seemed to have a strange connection with her... But suddenly, as quickly as they had come, her confusion, her ominous thoughts disappeared, and Belle found herself again at ease in her world, like nothing happened. She finished her orange juice and put the glass into the kitchen sink, then she got dressed and went for a walk. It was a lovely day, lovely indeed. On the way to the woods she met sheriff Graham. He looked upset, shaken - like she had been just moments before – but she didn't notice that at first. "Hi, Sheriff", she said, cheerfully.

Graham seemed strangely numb, dopey. "Hi", he answered, hesitantly, after a while.

Belle frowned. "Hey, are you - are you okay?"

Graham stared in the distance, with a dreamy look on his face. "Yes", he whispered.

He ponderously managed to focus her gaze on her. "Have you... by chance.. seen a... a wolf?" he asked, in a distant tone.

Her brows furrowed again. "I'm sorry?"

"Nevermind." Graham started to walk away. He stopped for a moment. "Mr. Gold is in the woods, if you're looking for him." he said, then he left. "He's doing a spot of gardening."

"Why, I'm not looking for..." Belle started, then she realized what he had just said. _Gardening?_ She turned and called him, "Wait, Sheriff, what...", but he was already gone. Belle turned around, feeling strange and dazed again. She walked through the wood. "Uncle Gold" she called. "_Gold!_". For a moment, the trees seemed to twirl around her, to close her in. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Is... is anybody here? Hello?"

Nobody answered, and Belle suddenly felt even more stunned, dizzy.

"_Hello..._?"

She had to lean against a tree, but the very moment she touched it, a silent explosion of light hit her, leaving her breathless.

She had a series of frantic, hectic flashes: running horses, a black carriage; Regina [_did my carriage splash you?_] with a black parasol, an arm around her shoulder; a basket in her hands [_but you're leaving him_], a heavy, green-and-gold brocade cloak [o_h, child, no_] over her shoulders; a spinning wheel [_I'm_ _a_ _difficult man to love_]; a mirror, someone [_shut the hell up!_] shouting at her [_because no one – no one - could ever_]; a cell, very dark, [_ever love me_] straw on the floor, a kettle and a cup on a silver tray; a door opening [_freeing yourself_], [_that's_ _a lie_] the sharp sound of her heels as she walk fast out the room [_if you just - believed_], then come back [_an_ _empty heart_], the feeling of burning tears in her eyes [_and a chipped - cup_]. Then, suddenly, the sequence of bright pictures stopped, and she was in the woods again, alone, the sun blinking between the branches, the soft smell of moss and dead leaves in the air.

Belle moaned and slid to the ground, her back against the log, her heart thumping hard. "Oh, God!", she groaned. "Oh, my God."


	6. The Kindest Spirit

_Some of the next chapters will focus on a particular character – like Chapter Two with Leroy. I think it's basically Kitsis and Howowitz's fault, as they love to make character-centric episodes since Lost, and I've been quite spoiled by that. _

_This is my Archie chapter. I love the guy, and I've been eagerly waiting to write this moment. I always thought that he and Belle would have liked each other a lot, if only they had the opportunity to meet._

_The next one will probably__ be Regina-centric... Or, more precisely, Regina/Gold, 'cause Madame Mayor knows our favourite pawnshop owner better than anyone._

_..._

_ Rayvah: your criticism about Belle's age and her - quite childish for a 19-year-old - habit to sit on his knees is legitimate, I understand it. I think I can try to justify it, though, by saying this: Belle is very fond of Mr. Gold and she considers him almost as a part of her family, and you can get quite effusive with your relatives without it looking too strange; and Belle is a bit childish (in a good way, but still) in her behaviour sometimes, too. Plus, I've always got the impression that she was quite a, uhm, 'physical' type, who is not embarrassed to hug and kiss and show her affection in a visible way (I may be wrong, though; I got this mostly from the way she sits near Rumpelstiltzkin on the table, then puts her hands on his shoulder when he's spinning in 'Skin Deep', even if she had known him for barely a couple of months)._

_..._

_The line it is drawn  
The curse it is cast  
The slow one now  
Will later be fast  
As the present now  
Will later be past  
The order is  
Rapidly fadin'  
And the first one now  
Will later be last  
For the times they are a-changin'._

_Bob Dylan, The times are a-changing_

_..._

She was barely able to knock at the door. Her hands were shaking – her whole body was shaking, actually, and she was breathing hard. When Dr. Hopper opened the door (a kind smile on his face), he was shocked to see what a pitiful state she was in. His smile disappeared instanlty. He didn't know her very well - he couldn't remember if they had ever exchanged more than a couple of polite "good mornings"- but Storybrooke was a small town, and he instantly recognized Moe's daughter, who sometimes could be seen (ponytail, denim shorts) arranging new flowers outside the florist's shop, or reading a book while drinking tea at Granny's. She always looked like a perfectly normal, balanced, happy young girl - but, now...

"... _Belle?_"

Her hair were tousled, dead leaves in it and over her clothes, dried tears on her cheeks. Her hands and arms were scratched, as she had been running through bushes or as she had fallen repeatedly to the ground. She was in a state of shock, quivering: her lips were moving as if to speak, but no coherent word came from it. Her blue eyes were wide open, and Archie didn't like the deranged expression in it. She looked very different from the healthy girl who cheered him with a pot in her hands outside her father's shop when he walked Pongo.

Archie instinctively held out his arms to catch her, because it looked like she was going to fall at any minute. When Belle felt his firm hands holding her she burst into tears again.

"I – I'm – o_h, God_ - I think I – I'm going c-cra_zy,_ doctor, I..."

"Hush, hush, don't... Just calm down, ok?" Archie tried awkwardly to reassure her. "I'm sure everything's gonna be -"

"But I'm go-ing _crah-zy_!" she sobbed. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated in terror.

"No, uh, no no no, no, I'm sure not, just..." He made her sit on the leather couch and he gave her a cleenex. He sat on an armchair, draw it near the couch and leaned towards her. "Why don't you just sit down here and talk to me about this? I'm – I'm sure you're overreacting..."

"_I'm not overreacting!_" she screamed, in a high-pitched, half-hysterical voice that alarmed Archie. He noticed that she was clenching her fists so painfully hard that her knuckles were white, the tissue squeezed in her hand so tightly that it was twisted like a rope.

"Ok, ok. Calm down, Belle. I'm listening to you. I'm listening." Archie nodded reassuringly at her, holding her gaze. Belle nodded in return and tried to pull herself together; his quietness, his composure had a soothing effect on her. She dried her eyes and took a few deep breathes.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

"Nevermind. It's ok."

"I don't know how to..."

"Just start from the beginning. Don't worry if it comes out a bit messed up, I won't mind." Archie was still staring at her with his calm, warm blue eyes.

Belle bit her lower lip, then nodded. "Ok." she said. "Ok."

She started talking, hesitantly at first. She kept stumbling on her words, losing the thread of the conversation, but she never stopped; she incoherently described her experience in the woods, the haunting feeling of unreality that she was undergoing increasingly often in the last few weeks. At some point, Archie disconnected the telephone. He listened to her, nodding slowly, interrupting with questions only a couple of times ("What do you think it means, that 'chipped cup' thing?"; "_Regina _was in it? You mean, the mayor?"), and patiently tolerating her digressions. He asked her to repeat some parts ("So you were locked in a dungeon of some sort, right?"). When Belle finished her story, she closed her eyes and abandoned herself against the couch back. Both of them kept quiet for a couple of minutes, the tic-tac of the clock being the only sound in the room.

Archie cleaned his glasses over his shirt then put it on again. He smiled to her, and she feebly smiled back.

"Do you feel any better?" He finally asked.

Belle looked up at him. "Yes. Yes. A bit, thank you."

"You see, uhm." Archie Hopper hesitated for a moment. He passed his hand over his mouth. It was highly unprofessional to talk about other people's issues, normally - but the situation in that town was hardly _normal_, lately. And the fact was, lots of people had asked for his advice lately, but none of them were _actually_ patients – apart from Henry, obviously, and he was not going to talk about him. Recently, people just approached him in the street, or at the café: they said "hi", made some remarks about the weather, then suddenly, casually dropped a question or two while he was having a walk with Pongo or some hot tea. He had met Sheriff Graham at Granny's, just to say one, and he had asked him a confused question about dreams and memories of past lives (not something Archie could answer to, really), just a few hours before. Ruby Lucas recently asked something about insomnia and strangely sharpened sense of smell, too... Not to mention _his very own_ recent dreams – all of them set in a world where the grass was taller than himself and so, so green; where he felt so very free that he sometimes woke up with his eyes filled with tears.

"You see, Belle, to tell you the truth – there _is_ something a bit strange going on there."

Belle shook herself up. "Really?" she asked.

"Yes. This feeling you told me about – the sensation of being... unreal, somehow, of not belonging here – it has become quite common in the last few days. I can't tell you how, or why is that, but people keep having the weirdest experiences – dreams, flashes... memories. All sort of things, different from one to the other."

Belle's eyes widened. "So I'm not the only one? To have those – those visions, I mean."

Archie took a long breath. "Apparently, not."

Belle closed his eyes again for a moment. "You see, I... I was there, _my body_ was there, against the tree, and I could feel it – the roughness of the bark, the smell of wood and everything. But _I _was miles away, _worlds_ away, and that thing, that – that hallucination – it was so real, so _real_..." Belle leaned her head back and turned to him. "You don't think I'm crazy, do you?" she asked, in a dispirited tone.

Archie smiled warmly at her – he had a very kind smile, really, and it was not the first time Belle noticed that - then shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. Not a bit of it."

"Really?"

"Archie frowned in a mock offended expression and opened his arms. "I'm a professional. I can recognize a loony when I see one."

Belle pressed her lips together in a pale, little smile, then she suddenly reached out for his hand and squeezed it hard between hers. Archie almost gave a start. Belle was staring at him with an intense, warm look of gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much."

He did his best not to blush. "Why, I, uhm. I didn't do anything... It's just my – you know, my job."

"No, it's not just that. It's not just your job. You're a good man. A really good man. I can see it." She squeezed his hand once more, then she got up and awkwardly tried to smooth down her clothes. "Well, uh. I'll come to pay your fee tomorrow, if it's not a problem..."

"Oh, no, no, there's no need. It's ok." Archie asked himself why he said that, but – really - everything had become so bizarre, lately, that money seemed the last thing one should worry about.

"No, doctor, I can't..."

"It's ok. I mean it." Archie smiled again, wrinkles forming a web around his eyes. Belle suddenly thought he had to be the kindest human being she'd ever known.

Belle smiled back. "Well, uhm..." She held out her right hand to him, but instead of shaking it, Archie took it between both his own hands and squeezed it gently, just like she did before. He could be a shy man, even a clumsy one - with his vests and his umbrella, and his tortoise shell rimmed glasses and his strange, fluffy red hair, and his academic look... but yes, he indeed knew what kindness was. They gazed into each other's eyes for a while, then he released her and opened the door.

He made a vague gesture with his hand at the air. "Anytime you need to talk, you know where to find me."

Belle nodded. She was about to leave when she stopped and turned to him again. "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any idea of what's going on there?"

Archie folded his arms and leaned his back against the door frame, and when he did this a streak of sunlight coming from the window streamed directly into his face. In this intense brightness, his features looked somewhat washed out, frozen, his glasses reflecting the light in white, impersonal circles. For a moment, he looked like a totally different person: timeless, young and old at the same time. For a few seconds, there was a strange, hidden beauty in his ordinary features, the lines of his mouth and nose looking stronger, more determined.

Belle absent-mindedly thought that this could be said of about everyone in town: sometimes they all looked like a completely different person. It was only a matter of light. Sometimes she looked outside the flower shop windows, saw some guy passing by, and for a moment - in the distance - he looked like a knight from a fairytale. When she looked closer, he was just some ordinary fellow in a denim shirt. Sometimes a girl would run a hand through her hair, and Belle would suddenly think she looked like a character from an old storybook - she just couldn't figure out which one.

He raised his eyebrows, then he turned his head; his face got out of the stream of light and he was suddenly his old self, the awkward, good-hearted psychologist with the faltering voice and the sweet smile.

"Not a clue. Sorry."

Belle smiled. "Nevermind. Thank you, doctor."


	7. Goodnight, Madame Mayor

_We all know from "The Stranger", "Skin Deep" (and, to a lesser degree, A Land Without Magic) that Gold is capable of emotional outbursts and ugly crying, right?_

_So - angst, angst, ANGST everywhere in this chapter! Brace yourselves!_

_..._

_Remembering all the times _

_you fought with me  
I'm surprised  
It got so far  
Things aren't the way they were before  
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore  
Not that you knew me back then  
But it all comes back to me in the end_

_Linkin Park, In The En__d_

_..._

Memory was a strange thing in Storybrooke, Belle already knew that. A few days after it, remembering her experience in the woods started to become increasingly difficult.

In a couple of weeks time, she could recall it only in the vaguest terms, the images she had seen being fuzzy and distant.

One day, on her way to her father's shop, she came upon Archie Hopper, who was taking Pongo for a walk; when she greeted him with a cheerful "good morning, dr. Hopper", she had a strange, warm feeling of closeness, of connection to him, but she couldn't figure it out why. And, for a second or two - who knows why - she had the strangest desire: she craved, literally _craved_ she could take his hands between hers and talk to him, talk to him for a very long time. She half-remembered being into his office and _actually_ talking to him about something, but she couldn't realize what was it about, or why she felt uncomfortable thinking about it. Dr. Hopper, for his part, seemed as oblivious as her. He answered her greeting with his usual, awkward-yet-sweet smile, but she could see him frowning for a brief moment, as if he was trying to remember something, too.

Belle was about to walk by, when she suddenly needed to do one thing. "Wait, dr. Hopper." she said. She didn't even know what she was about to say, but she knew – she was sure of it – that it was something very, very important, for both of them.

Archie turned around, a puzzled expression on his face. "Yes?"

Belle got closer. "I'm sorry" she said, anxiously. She felt like she was dreaming, as nothing of it was actually real. "I'm sorry to bother you, but there's something I need to tell you. It's important. Or, at least, I think it is."

Archie frowned. "Of... of course. We can, uhm, sit down somewhere, if you..."

"No, no, there's no need. It's... It's just this." Belle awkwardly put a hand on his arm and looked up into his eyes. "What I wanted to say, what I want you to know – is that we have a choice. No one decides our fate but us. We have a choice."

Then, she suddenly felt like waking up from a dream: she stared at Archie and realized she was squeezing his arm. She clumsily let him go. "Sorry" she said, hastily, then "Uh, ehm. Goodbye."

She hurried up and got into the flower shop.

Archie stayed still there for a while, until Pongo started yelping at him. He pulled himself together and looked down at the dog. "Sorry, Pongo. You're right. Let's go."

He started walking absent-mindedly down the road, but after a few steps he stopped again. He sat on his heels and took his dog's head between his hands. "Have you heard what she just said?" He leaned his head against the dog's. Pongo whined softly and stared at Archie with his sad dark eyes. "I'm free." He closed his eyes. "I _have a choice_. I'm free. I'm going to choose my own fate..."

...

That same evening, Belle passed by Gold's shop on the way home. She thought it might be a good idea to say get in and say 'hi', so she just entered the shop. The bell rang, but no one appeared: she heard muffled voices in the office. She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but when she heard Regina's voice, she had a strange [_did my carriage_], strange feeling [_Oh, no, um… I'm fine_].

She got nearer the heavy curtains that led to the backshop.

"... what you're doing, Gold." She heard Regina say.

"I really don't know what you're talking about. _Madame mayor_." That was Gold's unmistakable voice.

"Oh, I think you do. You know it very well. That poor girl." Belle frowned. Regina's words were ringing [_a master or a lover?_] a bell in her head [_a master _and_ a lover_]. She kept hearing voices, like memories from a [_you carry very little_] dream, in her head.

"I'm really sorry, but I still don't know what you mean." Gold's voice was controlled, even a bit teasing.

"Really? Oh, well." Belle heard her walking back and forth. "Tell me. _Gold_. Do you really think" Belle could hear her heels [_something evil has taken root in him_] clacking on the floor. "do you really think that you can make amends that way? Do you really think she will ever _forgive_ you?" She stopped. "I see, you're trying to clean the mess you've made, but - you know what? You're only making it _worse_."

His tone was not mocking anymore. "You know nothing about - "

Belle [_he did let me go_] gave a start, as she heard a sudden "bang", and she realized Regina must have hit the table, hard, with her hands. Her voice was higher, now, threatening. "Oh, I think I know it, _very well_. And, you want to hear something? She'll _freak out_ when she finds out. She'll be _scared to death._ Scared by _you_. Oh, and you know what else? _She'll hate you, Gold, _she's going to_ hate you._"

Belle thought she could hear some anxiety in Gold's voice, now. "No, you - you don't understand. I'm just trying to help, I - "

"You're not trying to help." Regina said, in a spiteful tone. "_You're just trying to buy her!_"

_Who was she talking about?_ Belle wandered. _Who was "her"?_

"No! _No!_ I would – _never_ – _ever_... Everything I'm doing – _everything_ - I'm doing it out of _love_..._!_" Gold's voice broke. Belle thought she had never heard him talking like that. All of a sudden, he sounded troubled, and desperately sad.

Regina's voice came out so dreadful that Belle had to put a hand on her mouth in order not to scream. At every word, her voice grew higher.

"_YOU. KNOW. NOTHING. ABOUT. LOVE!_"

[because n_o one could ever – ever love ME!_]

Belle was terrified. Regina – the elegant, restrained, emotionless mayor – was screaming in a high-pitched, wild, insane voice.

There was a long pause. Belle though she heard the sound of Gold's cane scratching the floor. Then he talked, but his voice was so low that she had to concentrate to understand his words.

"You're wrong, Regina. I _know_ what love is. I may not be very good at it, _but I do know_ _it_." Gold's voice was a whisper, quivering with contained anger.

"No. You don't. This - that thing you're doing - this is not love. This is _possession_, Gold. This is selfish: love's not like that."

Belle heard Gold's muffled steps and his cane hitting the floor; she thought he was probably walking around the counter to be in front of the mayor. His voice was low, his tone bitter.

"And what do _you_ know about it, Regina? What do _you_ know about... _love?_"

"Don't you - "

"_Oh, yes._" Belle heard him snap his finger in a sarcastic way, as if he had just remembered something. "The stable boy."

"Don't..."

"What was his name, again? Desmond...? Damian...?"

"You know perfectly what his name was, Gold. But don't you dare – don't – _you_ - _dare _– saying it in front of me."

"... Daniel!" he said, cheerily. She could almost see the ironic smile on his face. "Wasn't it, _Daniel?_"

"I warn you, Gold. Stop, _now_, or I..."

"_Or what?_ Or what, Regina?" Gold's voice was ominous, now. "_You_ started it. You had it coming." Belle heard his cane thumping on the floor again. "You think you can come here, and tell me what to do? You think you can do whatever you want?"

Regina's tone was more cautious, now. "I'm still more powerful than you, Gold. Remember that. I'm the mayor, I'm..."

Gold made a mocking snort. "_You?!_ More powerful than _me?_ Oh, my. Do you really believe that, dearie?" He sighed deeply, like a resigned parent rebuking a naughty child. His voice lowered in a mock courteous tone. "Listen, Regina. I'm not in the mood of bickering, tonight. I'm kind of tired, you know. So I suggest" he made a pause " that we resume this conversation tomorrow. Or some other time." Belle heard a muffled sound. "Or never."

"But, Gold, I came here because I need you to..."

"Goodbye, Regina. Have a nice evening."

"No, wait..."

"_Please_." He said that in an odd, allusive tone.

Regina didn't answer. Belle heard a strange, choked noise, as if she was trying not to swear.

"All right, then" she said, finally. Belle heard the door of the backshop opening.

"Goodnight, madame mayor."

Belle barely heard Regina's last words. "You'll see, Gold." She whispered. "She'll come to hate you. Because, you know, you can wear all of your tailored suits and your ties and your signet rings – but underneath your clothes, my friend - _you're still a monster_. Always had been, always will be."

"Leave." Belle could hear a terrible, painful tension in his voice. "Now. _Please_."

"Goodbye, Gold. I hope you'll have a nice evening, too."

The door closed behind her. Belle stayed still for a few seconds, her heart thumping wildly. She was nearly sick from fear. She was about to leave when she heard a strange sound from the office, as if something heavy had fallen to the ground. She hesitantly draw the curtain aside and was shocked to see Mr. Gold - who had sounded so controlled, so unmoved just a few seconds ago - sitting on the floor, his back against the counter, breathing heavily. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed, his hair ruffled. His hand was clenched over his cane so tightly that his fingers were white, and he had a frightened, painful expression on his face.

Belle didn't even stop to think about it – about what he would have said if she appeared out of the blue like that – and got in. "Gold!" she cried.

She ran through the room and fell on her knees in front of him. Mr. Gold stared at her with a stunned look in his eyes. Seeing him in that state got her shocked: she was terribly, terribly scared, and confused, and so, so worried about him.

She took his face in her hands "Oh, my God, are you all right?" She frantically passed her hands over his face, his hair. "Are you ok? _Gold?_"

He kept staring at her for a few seconds, looking dazed, then he shook his head as he was trying to clear up his mind. "Yes", he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just – I just - stumbled, I think."

"Oh, thank God! I thought she had hurt you." Belle was so relieved that she throw her arms around his neck and clumsily clasped him to her breast. "I don't know what I would do, if something bad happened to you."

She felt his hand awkwardly trying to caress her hair.

"Oh, _Belle_...It's ok. It's ok... _I'm ok_." He said, his face buried in her hair. After a few moments, he gently pulled her away and tried to get up. She helped him, offering her shoulder so he could use it as a crutch.

"Thank you" he said. He was a bit breathless, and he was clearly trying to look calm.

"It's just that – Regina said – she said some terrible things... really _terrible_ things, and I – I did not..." He turned to Belle, and she could see in his face something she had never seen before – weakness. It was the face of a helpless man [_you're a coward, Rump-_], a defeated man. "_Belle, I... Regina, she - she said that I..._", he tried to say, but he couldn't go on. A spasm of pain twisted his features.

She couldn't understand the reason why he was so badly shaken – she always seen him as a rather tough fellow, sometimes a pitiless one. Not the kind of man you can hurt with a few harsh words. She couldn't figure out how Regina managed to reduce him in such a pathetic state.

But now - his plain, open vulnerability hit a spot in Belle's heart. She hugged him again, tightly, wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest. She heard him sighing deeply. Her eyes were full of tears – both from the fright she had just got, and from the heartache in seeing him so shaken. "Oh, poor dear, my dear." She said, heatedly. "I don't care what she says. She's a witch, such a _witch...!_"

Seeing him like this – shattered, his features distorted by pain - had made her instantly forgetting everything Regina had said.

Gold tilted his head back to look her in her eyes. "Belle. _Belle_. You know I would never hurt you, right? That I will never, _ever_, do something that could hurt you?"

Belle was startled. "But, what... What are you talking about? Why are you asking me that?"

"Just answer me. You're not afraid of me, are you?" His voice was unsteady. "You don't think I can ever, _ever_ want to make you suffer again, right?"

"Of course not." She cupped her hands over his cheeks. "Why would you hurt me?"

He nodded rapidly. "Good." He put his hand on the nape of her neck and pushed her against his chest again. "Good." he said again, and he kissed her hair. Belle closed her eyes and smiled. She could feel the heat of his body underneath his shirt, his heart thumping fast. _God, she loved him_... And then, she realized.

She moved away a bit. "Wait, Gold, wait. What did you mean – why did you say 'make you suffer _again_'?"

Gold stared at her, surprised. He made an uncomfortable smile. "Oh, did I – did I say so? Nevermind. I'm, you know. A bit shaken."

Belle gazed at him. "Right." She said, finally, then smiled. "Of course. Of course."

Mr. Gold gave a sigh, then hugged her again, so tightly that he almost hurt her.

"Oh, Belle. _Sweetheart_."


	8. Like A Memory From A Dream

_A note. _

"_Jack and The Beanstalk" is the fairytale Belle is trying to explain to the baker in Disney's "Beauty and The Beast". She says "I just finished the most wonderful story, about a beanstalk and an ogre and..." before he stops listening to her and shouting at Marie for the baguettes. _

_The book she's reading when she's sitting on the edge of the fountain is probably "Sleeping Beauty" ("Far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!") or maybe actually "Beauty and The Beast"._

_P.S. - freshly baked cookies to anyone who gets all the "Anastasia" references in this chapter! :)_

...

Far away long ago  
Glowing dim as an ember  
Things my heart used to know  
Things it yearns to remember  
And a song someone sings  
Once upon a December

Deana Carter, Once Upon A December

...

Head full of thoughts, Belle strolled along strolled along the beach, the bright morning light behind her and a jumper tossed carelessly over her shoulders. The night before had been just like a dream: it couldn't have been true - seeing Mr. Gold (the unblinking, restrained, sometimes harsh Mr. Gold) so shaken, so abashed, shivering against her body when she hugged him.

"I've lost so much – so much that I had loved, Belle, I couldn't – couldn't bear losing you, too...", he had said to her (rather incoherently, she thought: why was he talking about losing her? She wasn't going anywhere) while they were leaving the shop.

She still couldn't fully believe it.

But the thing she found even harder to believe was the way Gold - still mixed up and tongue-tied - walked her home with an arm around her shoulders... and the way he, as soon as they reached her house, had taken her hand and kissed its palm as a goodbye, giving her ("Good night, my dear child") the most heart-wrenching sad smile she had ever seen.

She had watched him turn around and start walking down the road – the yellow cones of light under the streetlamps illuminating his limping figure -, fighting the urge to shout his name, to ask him to stay...

He looked so fragile, so lonely, with his cane as his only companion in the dark, desolate street, and later in his dark, desolate house. He was always alone, she thought, so alone. Everyone in town was afraid of Mr. Gold. Everyone kept away from him.. but she knew there was something else in him than the bitterly sarcastic man, the slightly scary shop owner, the merciless landlord who never allowed a delay. Somewhere, deep inside - Belle knew – hid another man, a scared, tortured, terribly sad one. A desperate soul...

"Hello!"

Belle started. She was passing by the old, rather worn-out wooden castle when she heard someone – someone very young – greeting her. She stopped and started looking around.

"Up here." She looked up at the castle and saw a young boy with a big book opened on his knees: she had never spoken to him, but she knew very well who he was. . Everybody did. His name was Henry.

Regina's son.

She screened her eyes from the sun and smiled to him. "Hi."

"You must be Belle, right? The florist's daughter."

Belle smiled as an answer. "And you must be Henry, right? The, uhm" she looked up at him, teasingly "the mayor's son?"

He smiled. "Yup, that's me. But I'm not _really_ her son, you know. She adopted me."

Belle frowned, a little surprised at the sudden, unexpected news. "Really? I didn't know that." She wondered if it was true or if the kid was making it up. Being related to Regina probably wasn't the easiest thing for a young boy, and it was not unusual for children to invent stories like that...

"I know, I know" Henry said, in a funny indulgent tone "You think I'm making it all up. But it's true."

Belle blushed. "No, no, I wasn't..." she started, but Henry smiled.

He patted the wooden board where he was sitting as an invitation to join him. Belle went to sit next to him, and the structure creaked under her weigh. "Wow, are you sure it will hold me?"

"Yeah, it's safe. I sit there all the time."

"Looks pretty rickety to me..."

"Nah, it's ok. My mum sits here with me, too, sometimes, and she's heavier than you."

There was a pause. Belle smiled awkwardly at him, not sure of what to say. "So, uhm. Your mum comes here? You mean, your real mum?" She couldn't imagine Regina, pencil skirt and high heels, on the old beach castle.

"Yep. Her name is Emma. I found her on the Internet some time ago..."

"Wait - what do you mean, _I found her on the Internet?_"

"Yep. There's a website, "_Who's your momma?_". I found her and asked her to come here. Maybe you've seen her: she's blonde, blue eyes, about this tall..." The boy made a gesture with his hand as to show someone's height.

Now that she thought of it, Belle remembered seeing the boy a couple of times with someone who fit the description – a tall, tough-looking blonde woman of about thirty, who wore a leather jacket and boots. She never noticed before, but now that he mentioned it, she remembered thinking that it was odd, actually seeing _someone new_ in Storybrooke.

"Yeah, I think I have."

Henry smiled. "I bet sometimes you thought you'd been adopted, too. When you were a little girl, I mean."

Belle smiled questioningly in return. "Wow, that's a pretty funny question. Why are you asking me that, now?"

Henry shrugged. "Oh, no reason at all. I just think everyone wonders about that, sooner or later, you know." He gave her an elusive smile.

Belle thoughtfully pushed her hair back. "Yeah, I think it's a thought that crosses everyone's mind, at some point - imagining you're someone else. Especially when you're angry with your parents or something."

"What did you think you were? A princess?"

She laughed. "I don't remember. But sure, yeah. I guess every little girl dreams of being a princess, one time or another. Kidnapped by some" Belle made a funny expression and waved a hand "_evil_ _witch_ and held captive for some reason." She tilted her head back in a theatrical gesture "Yeah, I guess I always thought I was royalty!" She laughed.

Henry chuckled, too. "Right."

Another pause. The wind whipped her hair around Belle's face.

She swayed her legs and glanced at his book. "What are you reading? Fairytales?", she asked. "That's why you asked me if I ever dreamed of being a princess?"

"Yeah, it's a storybook." Henry turned its pages over. "Do you like stories?"

Belle nodded. "Sure. I love stories. Any kind of stories. You know, I, uhm, I've always read a lot.. I used to know all of those fairytales by memory. _Cinderella, Snow White... Sleeping Beauty_." She touched his knee with hers. "_The Three Little Pigs_." she added, with a funny smirk.

"What was your favourite?"

"I don't know." Belle shrugged her shoulders and took a thoughtful expression. "_Jack and the Beanstalk_, maybe."

"Uh, really? Why?"

"Dunno. There's magic, and ogres, and, pfff." She waved a hand in the air again. "... and this young boy being the hero... I just liked that story, that's all."

"Got it. "Henry nodded. "You know" he added, a few second later "I thought it could have been _Beauty and the Beast_."

"Yeah, I like that one, too. Why did you think about that in particular?"

"Oh, it's just... Look." Henry flipped through the pages again. "Here."

He put a finger on a coloured picture. "The Beauty. She looks a bit like you, don't you think?"

"Why, thanks" Belle suppressed a smile. The kid sure knew how to pay a girl a compliment - he was maybe just a bit precocious...

And then she took a close look at the picture.

It was a sketchy watercolour, and it depicted a couple – a girl in a typical (golden-yellow) princess dress and a strange male figure, with leather clothes, greenish skin and a malicious smile. Behind them, Belle could see [_the young lady is engaged – to me_] a stylized group of people.

When Henry said the girl looked a bit like her, he had made an understatement. As linear as the illustration was… the resemblance was striking. Her hair, her figure... Belle absently ran her fingers over the picture. It looked like something she'd already seen somewhere, like a faded photograph... no, like a memory from a dream.

She put her index on a background figure wearing a fur-trimmed cloak. "Her father" she said, in a distant tone. "That's her father..."

Henry suppressed a smile. "Why do you say that?" he asked, nonchalantly.

Belle glanced at him, then shook her head. "Uh, I don't know. I think there was something about her father, at the beginning of the story. The Beauty going with the Beast to save him, y'know. Something like that."

"But there's a few people in the picture, why do you think _that_ is her father?" he insisted.

Belle shrugged. "He looks like the oldest. And, you see, he's holding out an arm towards her, as if [_you can't go with this... beast_] he didn't want to let her go, and..." Belle's voice faded. She felt her jaw go slack. She couldn't take her eyes off the picture. There was something [_it's forever, dearie_] so familiar in it, something [_I'll go with you_], something just out of reach of her fingertips [_forever_].

She frowned... and all of a sudden she felt like she was waking up.

"Oh, I'm, I'm sorry", she said, quickly, "I think I've been day dreaming for a moment."

But Henry didn't seem very surprised. He was actually looking at her with a strange, satisfied expression. "It's ok", he said with a smile. "Don't worry."

He suddenly hopped down from the castle. "Well, I have to go, now. Thank you for the good chat. Bye!"

"... Bye." Belle answered, without really thinking. It had happened again… her vision – all those places, all those faces.

Maybe she _was_ going crazy, after all.


	9. You just keep me hangin' on

...

_Just a perfect day,  
You made me forget myself.  
I thought I was someone else,  
Someone good._

_Lou Reed, Perfect Day_

...

The door bell rang as usual when Belle stepped into the shop.

"Hey", she said, astonished, taking a look around. "What's going on here?"

The whole place was a mess: objects had been moved from their usual place and piled up untidily over the counter; a wind chime (tiny glass running horses hanging from a ring support) lay on the floor, atop a layer of old newspaper pages. A wooden toy windmill had been disassembled and its parts were scattered around.

"Gold?"

She heard a muffled noise, and Gold appeared from the back of the shop, an Art Deco desk lamp in his hands. He wore an old, washed-out jumper and equally old trousers, and his hair was a bit ruffled.

"Hi," he said with a smile.

Belle smiled back, pleasantly surprised. He looked somewhat younger: less formal, less severe, so different from his usual self.

"Hi. What are you doing?"

"Some spring-cleaning."

Belle laughed. "Really?"

"Winds of change are blowing lately, dearie. Time to dust things off a bit."

Belle approached him for the customary kiss, but he kept her at a distance. "I'm covered in dust, you'll get dirty." he explained at her questioning look.

Belle gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you ok?"

"Sure." Gold smiled, looking surprised, pretending not to know what she was talking about; but both of them remembered very well what happened just a few days before. "Never better."

"Good." She nodded pensively. "You, uhm," she gently stroked his arm, "you looked a bit shaken the last time I saw you."

"Oh, don't worry. It was just..." he settled the matter with a dismissive wave of his hand "It was nothing, really. Nothing at all."

"Ok." She tilted her head and stared at him, but his expression was inscrutable as always. She shrugged.

"Can I, uhm, help you?"

"Oh, no, thank you - you'll get all your nice clothes dirty..."

"Nevermind. Just give me a headscarf or some handkerchief to cover my hair and I'll be ok."

"Oh, child, I don't think..."

"Oh, come on. _Please_."

Gold stared at her, then smiled. "Well, if you insist." He opened his arms in a resigned way and got back in the office to get her an old shirt and a scarf.

She wore the shirt over her clothes – it was so large that it looked like a dress on her, and she had to roll its sleeves up a bit – and tied the scarf on her head like a bandanna.

"Done." Belle did a pirouette and made a cheerful bow. "How do I look? Cute?"

"As a button." Gold laughed. There was a warmth to his voice that made Belle feel strange: she couldn't remember hearing him laughing like that... not often, anyway – a light-hearted laughter, for once, with no sarcasm or bitterness involved. She felt sorry for him: he wasn't a very cheerful person, for sure, if seeing him smiling or laughing heartily looked like an historical event to her.

"Well, let's get started, now." She said cheerfully, to cover up her sudden melancholy.

...

Gold opened the 1920 gramophone he had used the evening of their ball and put an old record on. "Charlie Parker", he said, answering Belle's questioning look. "This song is called _Star Eyes_."

"It's lovely." Belle jumped on a chair to reach a shelf and started moving objects from it to the counter, cleaning them with a cloth in the meantime.

"What is it?" she asked, showing Gold an old brass oil lamp.

"It's a magic lamp. If you rub it, a genie will come out to grant you three wishes."

Belle laughed. "Yeah. Only three?"

He chuckled. "Don't be greedy, dearie."

"All right. And what is that?" She waved a book written in what looked like an ancient oriental language.

She was having fun. All those old, funny, mysterious objects... She felt like Ali Baba in his treasure cave.

"This, my dear, is a spell book."

"Oh, come on." Belle raised an eyebrow.

Gold smiled and shrugged. "I don't know what it is, it's been there forever."

Belle put the book down on the table. The gramophone was playing _Summertime_.

"It's pretty dusty up here, Gold. How long it's been since the last time you cleaned this up?"

"Oh" Gold smiled again. "It was a long time ago. A _very long_ time ago."

Belle sneezed. "Sorry. I must be allergic to dust or something. Can you pass me a feather duster or something, please?"

"There."

Belle dusted the shelf off and moved to another one. Her hands were grey from dirt at this point, and she could feel her face prickly with dust. She sneezed again, then looked down to Gold and smiled.

"Look, I'm filthy. I must look like Cinderella."

Gold turned to her – he was polishing a Fabergé egg directly beneath her – and smiled. "Believe me, you're a lot prettier than her. And I speak from experience."

Belle shook her head and laughed. "Sure you do. I bet you know her personally. Now, can you pass me that, uh, uhm..." she suddenly closed her eyes and sneezed again – but this time, being half-turned to talk to Gold - she lost her balance and fell with a surprised "_Ah_!" from the chair she was standing on.

Gold dropped the golden egg and reached to catch her. She fell directly in his arms, and as he held her she had another quick flash [_nail them down?_].

Gold looked at her with widened eyes. "Careful, child, you could get hurt."

"Oh, God, thanks a lot", she said, a bit breathless... both for the surprise and for the sudden closeness to him. "Thank you."

Gold looked uncomfortable – he had a strange, intense expression on his face. Belle got the impression that he was remembering something...

"A-are you ok?" he asked, in a distant tone.

"Yes." Belle answered. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Good."

And then she looked up at him. They stared to each other for a moment... and suddenly, Belle started laughing uncontrollably. "Oh, the look on your face... I'm sorry, I..."

"You should pay more – _er_ - attention" Gold tried to be serious, but he couldn't help himself and he started laughing, too – much as a reaction to the thrill he experienced a moment before, when he had seen her fall. He placed her down and they kept laughing as Belle picked the golden egg from the floor and Gold put it back in its cabinet. They both got the giggles, and from that moment on everything they tried to do or say caused mad hilarity. A new song (_I've Got Rhythm_) started, and Belle took Gold's hand and made a few cheerful dance steps.

"I should do spring-cleaning more often..." Gold said, and Belle laughed even harder.

Belle threw the dust cloth she was using to him, but he dodged it and threw it back to her.

She wrapped it around her shoulders and started walking around with her back hunched. "Look at me, I'm Granny Lucas. 'Ruby, stop flirting with Dr. Hopper and come help me with those frozen lasagnas!'"

Gold giggled. "Oh, God, no. The poor man would have an heart attack if Ruby Lucas made a pass at him. Or if _any other female human being_ did."

"Oh, don't be mean. Archie Hopper is a good man."

"Oh, I'm sure of that. But his charm does not equal mine for sure." Gold bowed ironically.

Belle suppressed a smile. "Oh, shut up!"

She had never seen Gold so cheerful, so light-hearted. Never, ever. He looked like a completely different person. If only people could see him like this...

Gold picked up an old Halloween puppet that looked like a witch. "Doesn't it look a lot like our beloved Madame Mayor?" He squeezed the doll and it made a funny evil laughter.

Belle laughed. "Definitely."

They went on joking and teasing each other, and she ended up with a bellyache from laughter; she had to lean against a small display cabinet to catch her breath. "Oh, God", she said, wiping her eyes from tears: she felt drunk with amusement.

She turned to look inside the case. There were old bottles and glasses, a bruised tin kettle, a tea set, and...

"Hey, what's that?" She opened the glass window and held out her hand towards a lonely china cup. It looked absolutely ordinary... apart from a tiny chip on its edge. "Look, it's chipped." Her fingers curled around its handle.

Gold turned around and saw what she was doing. His eyed widened and he raised an arm. "Wait, Belle, don't..."

She picked it up. "Why do you keep a chipped -"

And then, Belle felt a force, like the shockwave from an explosion, slam into her chest. She gasped and squeezed the cup in her hands.

Everything came back. _Everything_.

All at once.

Her life, her family, her friends. Her mother's death. Her life as a princess, growing up in a castle with maids and governesses and tutors and books. Balls and receptions, dresses and jewels and piano lessons and needlework and walks in the rose garden. Boredom.

Her engagement with Gaston - an arranged marriage.

Then the war, her country being devastated by ogres. Wrong decision being taken, battles being lost. The dark shadow of defeat cast over her father's land. The sound of fighting – clatter and screams and moans - under her windows.

And then, him. Appearing like a ghost on her father's throne, proposing a deal to save them all... And asking for her in return.

The sudden change in her life.

The Dark Castle, the dungeon he called "her room", the moment she dropped the cup and it got chipped ("You can hardly see it"). The curtains, always closed, ("What did you do, nail them down?"), her falling, him reaching to catch her ("Thank you"). The spinning wheel turning and turning and turning ("Helps me forget").

His quips, his half-funny, half-melancholic remarks. His overwhelming loneliness ("Any man would be lonely", "I'm not a man"). The small clothes she found in the attic ("There was a son. I lost him."), the Queen talking to her, manipulating her to hurt him ("Sounds like a curse to me. And all curses can be broken.")

His anger, his pain ("I knew you could never care for me"). His denial.

Her being pushed away ("I don't want you anymore, dearie."), and then wandering through the land, not knowing where to go, what to do. Talking to strangers in a small, filthy tavern ("I know love, and you're in it."). Being abducted and locked up by the Queen, who had been waiting for her to come like a spider in its web.

And then, the Curse.

"_Belle?_"

She didn't answer – she couldn't. She was still clasping the cup, tightly, in her hands. Her cup... _Her chipped cup._

He still had it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke– there was a long, uncomfortable silence.

Then Belle slowly turned to Gold, who looked frozen, with his arm raised, a shocked expression on his face.

They stared at each other: Belle's eyes were wide open and wild.

Gold opened his mouth to speak but he wasn't able to say anything: Belle slowly approached him – she moved like a sleepwalker - and looked him in the eyes.

"_Rumpelstiltskin_", she whispered.


	10. The Line From Me To You

_..._

_We've got forever  
Slipping through our hands  
We've got more time  
To never understand_

_The Glitch Mob, The Shortest Distance_

_..._

"Yes." Gold's face twisted. "Yes. _Yes._ It's me. It's me, Belle." She could hardly stand the sight of him:; his features distorted in an expression that was painful to see - both hopeful and tortured, .

He pressed his hand against his chest and closed his fingers over his sweater in a spasmodic gesture. "Oh, yes, it's me, it's me, Rumpelstiltskin. Do you really, really recognize me?"

Belle stared blankly at him. "Yes," she whispered, after a long time. "Yes, I do."

His eyes gleamed with tears;he tried to smile. "? Belle, Belle - oh, dearest, my darling Belle..." His mouth was painfully contorted. He raised a hand as if he was going to touch her, but he didn't. "You must be so confused -–" When she didn't respond, he looked away and offered her more words as if in consolation. "I never meant for it to be like this." he said. His voice was quiet, almost unrecognizable, cracked by emotion. Belle couldn't do anything but stare at him, tears running down his cheek.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Belle– For everything. So sorry, so terribly sorry."

He raised his hand for the second time and hesitantly touched her cheek. "You were right, you know... about letting you go. I have been alone – ever since."

Belle's eyes were still wide and absent. "I know." She said, in a strange, vague voice.

"Do you?" Gold stared at her with a heart-breaking expression of hope in his eyes. And he realized something wasn't going as expected. He drew back.

"Belle? Are you okay?– are you ok? Are – are you mad with me, or..."

"No... No, I'm not… I think." She frowned. She looked strange, as if she was drunk, or drugged, or in shock. "But I... I think I'd better go, now. I don't... _It's not_... I can't stay. I'm sorry," she added rapidly, in the same absent-minded tone, and then she turned around and started walking towards the door. The cup was still in her hands.

Gold's heart sank. "Belle?" he called, his voice unsteady. "Belle, oh, no, no no no, don't go, _please_... I'm sorry, I'm..."

She opened the door and left the shop.

"... _Belle?_" He was nearly sick. He stared disbelievingly at the door closing behind her. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, _no_..."

_I've lost her, _he thought_. Again. _

_How did it happen? How could it happen?_

Regina was right: she hated him. She didn't forgive him.

_She would never forgive him._

Gold tilted his head back and cried out in pain a low, wild, inhuman cry. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such an utter, terrible desperation.

No, he was lying to himself - he remembered that. It was the time Baelfire disappeared in the magic portal and it closed above him, separating his son from him forever.

But that time, everything happened so fast that he hadn't known what to do... But _this time_, with Belle, he had twenty-eight years – _twenty-eight years!- _at his disposal_._ He had all the time he needed, he had forever, _forever_ to get her to know him, to get her to _love _him...

For all the good it would do, he could have been given a hundred years, a _million _years: it wouldn't have been enough. That was the final proof - he just couldn't do it, make someone love him. Not with all the time in the world.

So much time, and he had wasted it all.

_Fool. I'm just a poor, pathetic, foolish man._

Kingdoms could rise and fall, worlds could follow their paths around their suns, stars could turn cold and die. Universes could fade and disappear, he would still find no one willing to love him. In three hundred years, he had loved two people, and he let both of them slip through his fingers. In three hundred years, he had learn _nothing._

Because – simple as that, just like he told Belle - _no one_ could _ever_ love him.

"You were right, Regina, you witch. I'm no better than you in any way. I'm a monster. Always had been, always will be."

Gold cried again, in anger this time, then he raised his cane and hit the glass cabinet with the Fabergé egg, throwing it on the floor with a terrible clash; then he smashed another display case, and then another, and another, throwing around glass slivers and china splinters, reducing the shop to a chaotic mess of broken knick-knacks and bottles and lamps and dishes.

In his rage, he recklessly put a hand on the frame of a destroyed display cabinet, and a piece of broken glass cut a deep, jagged slash on its palm. He cried in pain and anger and he stared at the blood straining from the wound, then he carelessly brushed his hand against his chest, leaving a long, dark red mark on his jumper. His cane fell from his hand and his hard breathing turned into sobbing.

_Everything I loved, I lost it._

He let himself slide to the floor, between the broken glass chips; his shoulders shaking, crying restraintlessly.

He had nothing left.

He was, indeed, a monster.

And he was alone. Alone, again, _forever_.

...

Belle left the shop in a confused, shattered, mixed-up state of mind. She didn't know what to do. Everything had happened so fast. It was so strange, so frightening. She didn't know who she was anymore, she didn't know who _anyone _was anymore.

For a moment, in the shop, with the cup in her hands, she felt the desperate, aching desire to throw her arms around Gold's neck and to kiss him, to kiss his desperate mouth and ease his terrible pain, saying that she loved him, that everything was forgiven – but he wasn't really Gold, was he? He wasn't the man she knew, or at least she thought she knew. He was Rumpelstiltskin: a man she had once loved, too, a very long time ago. Or, at least, part of him was.

He was both of them, and it was all so strange, so crazy, so unbelievable...

He was Mr. Gold: the man who had been a constant in her life; the man who had always been so kind to her; the elegant, well-mannered man she had a terrible crush on.

The man she had grown to know and love.

_And_ he was Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One: the manic, sad imp with the scaly skin and wide eyes who took her away from her family and her friends and kept her locked in a dungeon. The strange, lonely creature with the odd laughter and hidden melancholy. Another man that she had come to love, in a different way, in a different world.

Yes, she loved them both – with the same intensity – but they were not the same person. She needed to understand who he was, _what_ he was.

_Just like her._

Because - who was she, really? The naive teenage girl who was supposed to attend high school – or the blue blood, fearless princess who was ready both to marry a man she did not love and to sacrifice her own freedom for the sake of her country?

And who was her father? A king? Or the near-bankrupt florist?

Who was she, if all her memories were a fraud, if her childhood, her whole life had been nothing but an illusion? Because, in this world, _she had never been a child_, she _never_ sat on Gold's lap as everyone had been telling her; she _never_ really went to school - she only attended the same high school class year after year after year: the only thing she had been doing was repeating the same actions again and again and again, for twenty-eight years.

When the curse hit them, everybody had been transported from their world to this one, and for twenty-eight years - _twenty-eight years_ – they had remained unchanged, always the same, forgetting it one day after another, remembering nothing but what the Queen allowed them to remember. All their memories were a hoax, their lives a play in which everyone was both actor and spectator, a reverse charade designed was to never offer a resolution.

_Twenty-eight years._

Twenty-eight years, and everything she knew, everything she loved - was a lie.

Her father, Leroy, Gold, _everybody..._

But oh, it was all so confusing, her head hurt so badly... How could she stay in the shop, how could she answer his questions, how could she take the right decisions - when she didn't even know who she was? When her head was spinning like crazy and she felt dizzy and unsteady and her heart ached for two different men, or maybe just one who was the sum of the two? How could she?

She had to get out of this place, she had to get away from him.

Not forever, oh, no. She was going to go back to him, that was sure, because no matter who he was – the imp or the shop owner, the Dark One or the coward, the sorcerer, the murderer, the saviour, the loner, the father, the good, the evil, the man – she loved him.

She just had to make up her mind.

She wandered around the town for a while, then entered the diner.

Ruby was leaning over the bar, telling some funny story to a couple of young guys, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "... so I told Granny 'Oh, you really think I can't do something for you just out of kindness, for once?', and her face was like 'no, I don't' – you guys know what kind of face I'm talking about. And then I acted, like, really offended and hurt and everything for, like, half an hour, and she was still suspicious, but I must have been more persuasive than I thought, because at some point she got really ashamed of herself, you see. And in the end she even apologized to me."

She paused, smiled maliciously and leaned even more. "And _then_ I told her about what I'd done with the _car_." Everyone burst into laughter, and Ruby suddenly noticed Belle standing by the door. She gave her one of her wide red smiles. "Oh, hi sugar. How are you doing? Come and drink something with me and the boys."

But Belle was already out of the door. She thought being in a crowded place would have made her feel better, or at least less alienated, but it had been a mistake: she couldn't stay there.

All those people: she couldn't even look at them without feeling somehow guilty, somehow ashamed for what she knew . She felt like she was lying to them, pretending to be someone she was not.

Because she wasn't a schoolgirl anymore – she was a grown-up woman, an aristocrat, who had been through many adventures - through love, and pain, through war and confinement and loss.

No, she just could not bring herself to talk to them, to any of those people - still mercifully unaware of their past, their fate, their imprisonment in a world they didn't belong to.

Even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she went home.

The sky was getting dark when she opened the front door.

"Hello?" she called.

She heard a clatter of pots and her father's voice. "In the kitchen, honey."

Moe leaned over and saw her. "Hey, sweetheart. Are you okay?"

Belle took a deep breath and looked at him. "Father, I have to tell you something. And - if you believe me - I think that you're not going to like what I'll say."


	11. Broken

This might look like a conclusing chapter - but it's not! Actually, things are just starting to evolve, and from now on, be ready for a downward spiral of lies and blackmail and surprises and changes and - _but I digress_. Enjoy the chapter below!

_..._

_And I don't want the world to see me,  
Cause I don't think that they'd understand.  
When everything's meant to be __**broken**__,  
I just want you to know who I am._

_Goo Goo Dolls, Iris_

…

"... And it was this cup that made me remember everything – think of it, he still had it, after all this time - and when I touched it, when I took it in my hands..."

Belle had talked all night. The poor girl seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and his father didn't have the heart to interrupt her or to go to work, leaving her alone. He prepared some sandwiches to eat, made her a cup of tea and listened carefully to what she had to say.

He listened, sure – but listening was one thing, _believing_ to what she was saying was another...

"Belle, I don't know, ..." Moe looked uncomfortable.

Belle shook her head. "I know it sounds impossible, really, I know - but it's true, it's true, and I..."

"Belle, listen to me." Moe took her hands. "I don't know about this..." he shrugged, "…this _world _you're talking about. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe you were a princess. I mean… you say I was a king and the poor old Gold was some sort of, well, of evil _imp_ that goes by the name of-? "

"_Rumpelstiltskin_, dad, and I didn't say that he was _evil_, just ..."

"Just that he_ kidnapped_ you and _locked you in a cell_,right?"

"Just for a while, only at the beginning... but then things changed - dad, what does really matter is that... "

"What really matters is that I'm worried about you, Belle." Moe looked at her with a deadly serious expression in his eyes. "You're acting so strange lately. You disappear for hours, you look shocked when you come back. ... And now, this? You do realize this sounds crazy, right? Belle?"

Belle shook her head. "But dad, think about it. Do you remember me as a baby?"

Moe made a gesture out of exasperation. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Of course I remember you... "

Belle interrupted him. "So, tell me, what did I wear my first day of school?"

"Oh, God, I have no idea, it's been such a long time ago..."

"And my first Halloween costume? Uh? Do you remember it? My first birthday present? C'mon. And by the way, where are the pictures of my birthdays? And the school yearbooks? There must be, somewhere, a picture that portrays me younger than I am today. There _must_ be a picture of me as a child."

"Belle, I don't know, _I don't know_, but it doesn't mean that we came from a different _world_. Come on..."

"Did I have a favourite teddy bear? A doll? Have I ever had the measles? And the mumps? A father remembers these things, no matter how much time has passed."

"Belle, I don't ..."

"All right, let's change the subject if you want. When did you open the flower shop, Dad? What year was that?"

"Oh, God, it was... no, wait, it was... I don't know, Belle, why are you asking me all of these questions?"

"To show you that I am not crazy. You don't remember any of this, dad, because those things _never happened_. Everything we think we remember are fake memories, illusions. Nothing changes in this town, never alters, ever. Everything has always been the same."

"Ok, now you're really..."

"How did you meet Mr. Gold? When? _Where?_ You remember this, at least?"

Moe opened his mouth to answer, then closed it and leaned back heavily against his chair.

"Well, of course, it was when... well, this time that I... _that he_..." He frowned. When he spoke again, he did it slowly. "No, wait ... it didn't happen like that... _no_..."

He absently rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth.

Then, he shrugged.

"No. I don't remember. I do not remember _any_ of the things you asked me."

Belle raised her arms triumphantly. "You see?"

"But what you said... it _is_ absurd, do you understand? Spells, curses, a parallel world ... it doesn't make any sense. And I'm worried about you, honey."

"I know, dad. I know." Belle picked up the chipped cup and put it in his hand. "Here, take it. Don't you feel something? Anything?"

Moe turned it slowly in his hands, his brows frowned. Belle stared at him anxiously. Eventually, he placed it back on the table.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart..."

Belle sighed, disappointed. "Okay, never mind. There must be something else that works as a trigger for your memories. An object, a person... _Gaston!_ Maybe seeing Gaston might help you remember... "

"Belle, I don't even know this guy, I don't think..."

But he could not finish the sentence.

What seemed like a blast of wind, of light - something powerful, like the shockwave from an explosion - hit both of them, leaving them breathless. Moe gripped the edge of the table and gasped. Belle was somehow less affected by it - somehow, she had already experienced something like this.

She turned to his father: the expression on his face was one of an absolute astonishment, of such a total shock that it looked almost comical. His eyes were wide and he looked at his daughter as if he had never seen her before... which, actually, was partly true. He reached out a tentative hand. "Belle..."

"Father..." Belle grabbed his hand.

"Belle, my daughter, my darling daughter!"

Belle smiled brightly. "Do you remember now? _Do you_?"

He smiled and nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, great gods, yes... Oh, Belle, the gods be thanked, Belle..." Moe hastily got up from his chair, hugged his daughter and held her close. "Belle, my sweet Belle... What happened, _what happened?_"

Belle hugged him too, smiling. "Father... it's broken, I don't know _how_, but something - or _someone_ - must have broken the curse! Do you understand? We are free, _free!_"

He held her off for a moment, looking into her eyes. He smiled, but he had tears in his eyes.

"Oh, my dearest daughter, thanks heavens! We are free, we are ourselves again, we're together again... I thought I would have never seen you again, after that beast stole you away from me..."

But a moment later, Moe held her away, his arms outstretched. His eyes had a suddenly hard, resolute look in them. Belle looked at him, puzzled. "Father, what's wrong?"

Moe pursed his lips in a grimace.

"That _monster_. That monster took you away from me, he treated you like a slave - my only daughter, a_ princess_ - he locked you up in a cell... _in a cell_... "

Belle's heart began to pound. "No, father, it's not as you think it is, it's not ..."

"That's why this man ... no, that_ inhuman_, that pitiless _being_... Gods, _now I understand_. How could I be so blind? All those loans, all those favors, all pf his kindness... "

"Wait - what? Father, what are you talking about?"

"He wanted _you_ - in this world, as in the other, he wanted to make you his slave - _again_... That beast, that monster..."

Belle took him by his arm. "No, no, no - father, you don't understand, you don't know him, father…"

But her father was not listening to her. He began to walk up and down the room with the determined pace that he used to have when he was a king. "And I bet now the curse is broken he's turned to the horrible beast that he has always been. Enough tailored suits, enough well-spoken elegance for our dear Mr. Gold. I bet he's his old self again – using his power to trick and deceive people, to manipulate them and lead them to despair and death. I bet he already started to spin gold, that he's spinning the wheel laughing that horrible laugh of his... "

Belle's eyes widened. "No... no, it can't be, no, no..." Without thinking, she turned around and ran towards the front door.

"Belle?" His father looked at her in alarm. "Where are you going? Belle?"

She gave him a quick glance and ran out of the door.

"Belle?" She heard him shout again, but she was already far away. "Come back, Belle!"

As he ran to Gold's shop, Belle absently noticed that the magic pulse had affected everyone in the Hopper was hugging Marco, and both were affectionately patting each other's back: they had tears in their eyes. The Mother Superior was stroking the cheek of the young nun who went by the name of Astrid. Leroy and a couple of other men who were not much taller than he was were beating powerful slaps on each other's back, too, laughing like children.

Belle passed by Mary Margaret Blanchard, who was walking slowly, with an absent-minded look on her face.

"Snow!" She heard screaming. Belle stopped. David Nolan was standing on the other side of the road, staring at Mary Margaret. She turned to him, very slowly. Her face went from the vacant expression to incredulity, then to absolute joy. "Charming!" she whispered, then they ran towards could not hear what they said, but a moment later they were kissing as if their very lives depended on that kiss.

Belle started running again. "Rumpelstiltskin," she cried. "_Rumpelstiltskin!_"

The shop door opened. For a moment, Belle was afraid of what would come out of it. Was it possible that her father was right? Was it possible that, with the spell broken, Gold had gone back to what he used to be? Back to being the Dark One, to be cold and cruel, to be...

"_Rumpelstiltskin_!"

Belle closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

On the door of the shop - a day's growth of beard, without the tie, leaning on his cane - was the man she had seen every day of her life for twenty-eight years... and he was staring at her as if he had just seen a ghost.

They looked at each other for a long time, Belle on one side of the road, Gold on the other. The wind blew Belle's hair on her face, and she brushed them away with her hand.

"Hey." Gold did not smile. He had deep dark circles under his eyes. A breeze ruffled his hair, too. "I thought ..." He bowed his head for a moment, and another gust of air messed his hair up again, then he raised his eyes and looked at her. "I thought you didn't want to see me anymore."

"Then you were wrong." Belle shrugged and smiled. "I shouldn't have left. I was just... confused. I was scared, I think."

She seemed to see his eyes widen for a moment, but from this distance he could not be sure. "Scared of me?"

Belle's smile widened. She shook her head. "No. Not of you. Never of you..."

Gold looked at her. He seemed about to say something...

"... Because I love you, Rumpelstiltskin." And the second she said that, Belle knew that it was true, that it had _always_ been true, and it had never been truer than this very moment.

"Oh," Gold's face twitched in relief – in relief and something else - and he finally smiled, a smile that was almost a grimace of pain. "Oh, Belle..." He took a step toward her, then another, moved the cane to make another... but Belle had already run straight into his arms. She threw herself upon him so vehemently that she made them both make a half twirl, and they nearly fell.

Gold wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and squeezed her, leaning on his cane.

"I love you, too." He murmured, his face buried in her hair. "I love you too." Belle laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin..."

"Belle, sweetheart..."

"Oh, it's so good to call you with your true name again. After all this time..."

"Really?"

They looked in each other's eyes for a long time, face to face. So very close. Belle put her hand on his cheek and stroked his whiskers.

"Did you forget to shave?"

Gold shook her head, and his hair brushed her face. "I thought I lost you again, Belle: shaving was the least of my worries. Believe me, I had even forgotten who I was."

"And now, now you know that? You know who you are? "

He stared at her for a long time. "Not quite. Not really. I've never figured it out very well – you know, being the town coward for so long, then turning to the most powerful being in the land; and then again, losing my magic, being human again..." He gave her another painful smile. "But, if I remember well - once you told me that you like mysteries to be uncovered. Maybe you can help me figure it out. "He looked at her. "Will you?"

Belle felt another tear slipping down her cheek, but she smiled. "Of course I will. For a price."

Gold looked puzzled, but then she laughed.

"It might take a little while, I'm afraid." Gold smiled back, this time a little more openly. "My identity is something a little... layered, I guess. Complicated."

"I like complicated things. And apart from that, I have twenty-eight years of school untaken holidays to spend. I'll have to do something in my spare time."

Gold looked at her. "Oh, Belle..." He slid his hand from her shoulders to the nape of her neck; he stroked her hair, then wiped the back of his hand on her cheek and brought her face close to his...

Belle stepped back and looked at him, sternly. Gold froze. "The last time I tried to kiss you, Rumpelstiltskin, you yelled at me. I hope this time you're going to be a little more accommodating."

Gold looked at her in disbelief, then laughed softly. "Yes. Oh, yes, I promise."

"Good." Belle smiled... then Gold dropped his cane that fell to the ground, he leaned forward, took her face in his hands and kissed her forcefully, with some kind of restrained fury. It was not a sweet kiss, a perfect one - there would have been time for that. It was an awkward kiss, a clumsy one, and he had dry, cracked lips, and his mouth tasted of bourbon and stale coffee, and his face was rough from his beard... but despite all that, or perhaps because of it, it was the sweetest thing, the more wonderful moment that she could imagine, the moment she had wanted for so many years. She understood how David and Mary Margaret – or, better, Snow and Charming – must have felt, when she had seen them together just a few minutes before.

Belle felt like the world had slipped off its axis, and time had no more value.

The blood was buzzing in the ears so strongly that it make her almost deaf, but at the same time she was also strangely aware of a lot of things - the citizens of Storybrooke who called each other with their real names ("Snow ?","Red, is that you?","Grace!","Dad?") - surprised, excited; the wind in her hair. The warmth of the sun on her head.

When Gold broke away from her, his mouth slightly open and his eyes dazed, it was Belle who grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands, pulled him against her and kissed him on the mouth again, for a long, long time. She broke away; there was a moment of hesitation, then he pulled her back, hard, against him, with both arms. He could feel the heat of his body through his shirt, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his hard breathing.

Eventually, Belle pulled herself away from him, panting, and slid her hands on his bony shoulders: they looked into each other's eyes, in silence. They were so close that she could see the wrinkles on his forehead, around his eyes and lips, his hair turning grey at the temples.

Gold had the top buttons of his shirt open: just a minor detail, but from a man she had always seen with his tie tied in a flawless Windsor knot and coordinated pocket squares, this small concession to slovenliness sent a shiver down her back. She tried to look away from the dimple between his collarbone, at the base of his neck.

"Well then," she whispered at last, with a half smile, when she was again able to speak. "Am I going to be your crutch, from now on?"

Gold stared at her with a quizzical look, then he cast a look at his cane, laying on the ground: he laughed, burying his face in her hair.

"Perhaps, dearie" he said. "Perhaps."


End file.
